


Leaving Nara

by kavinskt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x19, 12x19 Coda, Arguing, Coda, Dreams, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Supernatural 12x19, coda 12x19, i love them, im a slut for quiet conversations with hidden meanings and pining, so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavinskt/pseuds/kavinskt
Summary: Castiel dreams of Dean whilst running from him. Dean rings Castiel whilst chasing him.





	1. bovay,

"There's still sand in your hair." 

They're standing very close. Everything is quiet, the type of quiet Castiel would usually enjoy. But things never end very well when they stand this close.

"Yeah. Some fucking lunatic whammied me in a kid's playground so he could go play daddy to the devil's offspring. Can't seem to get it out."

They're the type of words that Dean typically spat at him, all bite and bruise after some sort of falling out. But not this time. In fact, they uttered so softly, so quietly, Castiel's brain lurches to find a logical reason for it. Are they hiding? He swallows, eyes narrowed, but Dean's mouth quirks up as he watches him. Castiel's shoulders tense.

"Relax." Dean says, his breath dusting over Castiel's lips and making him painfully aware of the space between them. Dean is making good use of his height, his head quirked downwards every so slightly, and Castiel feels like he's being towered over, but all he wants to do is drift closer. "Why're you always so serious, Cas?" Dean's voice is so gentle, and Castiel feels something in his chest melt. 

Dean Winchester is so dizzyingly beautiful. Being this close to him, so much that he can feel the warmth billowing off him, makes Castiel feel so at peace that the only thing he could possibly compare it to is the first touch of a cupid's spell. He feels warm all over. He feels like crying. It's a very human feeling.

Impossibly, Dean gets closer. He places two fingers under Castiel's chin, and Castiel allows him to tip his head back. His eyes close. He's stopped breathing, but it doesn't matter anymore because now Dean's got his lips pressed to Castiel's, and the kiss lingers so long that Castiel can still feel it an hour after he wakes.

\- - - - - - - -

Castiel listens to the gentle hum of the truck's engine and Kelly Kline's unconscious breathing. He taps his thumb against the steering wheel, desperately trying to conceal his anxiety. Nervous energy pumps through his veins. His eyes catch on the movement of his thumb, like they have many a time on this car ride, but he can't bring himself to stop it. The action is very human. He is beginning to worry whether there are other human traits that he has developed without realizing. 

He glances at Kelly's sleeping form for the ninth time in the last two minutes. His palms sweat, and he adjusts his grip on the wheel. It is ridiculous, the fact that Kelly's mere presence has such an effect on him now, but yesterday's events prove he has quite a few reasons to be weary of the power Kelly and her child have over him. With one touch, they had him abandoning all loyalty to the Winchesters, and placing it in Lucifer's nephilim. He'd touched his fingers to his friend's heads without blinking twice, hadn't even considered listening to what Sam had to say, completely dismissed Dean's 'don't'. 

He is livid with anxiety, and his fingers itch to reach for his phone and ring – 

His phone vibrates against his thigh. He fumbles to answer the call before the noise wakes Kelly, grabbing the battered Nokia and squinting at the screen to see who's calling. He is not surprised to see Dean's name on the screen. Typically he would turn his phone off, ignore the several other calls that come every few hours, but his fear of waking Kelly makes him frantic and he doesn't know how to mute the fucking noise.

He answers the phone, holds it up to his ear as his heart hammers in his chest. There is something shameful about being so terrified of an unborn child. He wallows on that thought too long and forgets to speak into the phone that's plastered between his shoulder and cheek, until he hears a voice that has this irritating ability to have his immediate attention no matter the circumstances. 

"Castiel?" 

Cas gets caught up in the sound of Dean's voice, forgets how he'd betrayed him only a few hours beforehand and smiles. "I feel like you save addressing me by my full title for times when you have to attempt at asserting some sort of dominance." 

Theres a pause on the other end, then a huff of cold laughter. 

"That nephilim juice is really doing wonders for your ego." Castiel blinks at the tone he uses, realizing quickly that Dean still thinks he's in the same trance he was Yesterday. 

"Dean," He starts, and his voice sounds weak even to his own ears. He desperately tries to gather words. "That- At the sandbox, that was not me, I assure you. I would never-." He realizes his voice has risen and forcibly lowers it. "I would never leave you and Sam like that." 

"Yes you fucking would," Dean bites. "You have."

Castiel feels his shoulders sag. He despises Dean scolding him almost as much as he despises his own inability to apologize in a way that Dean deems worthy. Especially now, given what Dean was referring to. 

Castiel is quiet. He slumps against the seat, all tension seeping out of his body and leaving him, just, tired. He does not have the energy to argue with Dean, but he opens his mouth to try anyway. All that comes out is, "Dean, please," and even that is more a muttered plea than anything else. He'd be embarrassed if it he weren't so drained. "Can we not argue. I do not-" His tongue feels dry in his mouth. He swallows before speaking again, "I cannot argue with you right now." 

The phone rests against his ear, and there is silence for just a few moments. He can hear Dean's breathing, and it lulls him. When Castiel says, "I'm sorry." it comes out very soft and very hushed. He wonders when this became a thing; them speaking to one another so gently, but then remembers that last night was a dream and nothing more, and maybe he'd been addressing Dean this way forever.

When Dean speaks again, he sounds the way he sounds when he's got one hand buried in his hair and he's hunched over the table with his eyes closed. Castiel has seen him like that too many times. "You need to stop running off on me." He says, and Cas thinks the man's repeating himself when he breathes the words, "Away from me." until he realizes that the subtle change in words alters the meaning quite a bit. He suddenly feels like there's something stuck in his throat. 

"I would stay with you if I could." 

"And you can't now? You can't come home?" 

Castiel smothers the whine that threatens to escape from his parted lips, shuts his eyes for a beat. He knows that once he speaks his next words the quiet, lovely hush of their conversation will perish, and God, how he will miss it. It is once in a blue moon that he and Dean speak like this.

"I- You know, Dean, you know I can't. I do not want you in danger, and this child- this nephilim, means more danger than you can possibly imagine- " 

"We've been over this, Cas. This idea that you're hear to protect us? Shield us from this almighty evil? It ends now. We do this shit together; that's the only way it's ever worked out." His words are rushed, in the tone he uses when he knows his moments before the phone call is ended are numbered. "Now, you turn that ugly truck around, Cas, and you come back to me, or so help me I will- "

Kelly Kline places a hand on an angels shoulder, and there's a beep as Castiel hangs up. The phone drops carelessly from his hand, and he stares out the window as overwhelming bliss seeps into his being and he can do is sit in awe of a better future, a better future, a better future.


	2. alabama.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean keeps his word. So does Cas.

 

Dean's surroundings slip by him in a dim blur, trees and landscapes sucked into the dust the impala kicks up in it's wake. He stares, unwavering, at a spot on the road before him. His eyes have not flickered from it since he started driving. Gradually, the road gets darker as he drives, but he's in such a daze he only realizes when the his surroundings are completely pitch black and all he can see are the tips of the trees, lit by the moon. He fumbles to turn the impala's lights on.  
  


He's alone, and he's headed to a motel called the Immerman Inn. He's got Sam's laptop sitting on the passenger seat, open and displaying a map that stretches 21 miles wide. According to this, Cas' phone is the red dot and the impala is the blue. Gradually, the blue dot drifts closer to the red. Far too gradually, if you ask Dean.

 

He's still got a few miles to go, and he's aware of that, but his still jostles his leg uneasily and glances at the laptop much too frequently.  
  


Sam's not with him. After they'd blacked out at the sandbox, he'd insisted on going to the nearest motel so they could rest up for at least an hour, because Sam had been awake for 45 hours straight and the wink of unconsciousness Cas' spell gave him had him yearning for more. Dean didn't put up much of a fight, mostly because he was genuinely worried that his brother would hit the deck at any given moment, but also because he had other plans in mind. He doesn't need Sam with him, right now. Or his sympathetic glances. That's why he sneaked out before the sun came up, equipped with Sam's laptop and small portion of guilt.  
  


His shoulders are set to the point of it almost being painful. He's only got one shirt on but he feels clammy, suffocated. He plays with the collar, scratches at his throat, swallows.  
  


He'd love to say he has any grasp of what the fuck is going on, what the fuck he's doing. Why he just left his brother in the middle of nowhere so he can make a futile attempt at chasing Castiel, alone. But all that he can say is that he's got pit in his stomach since Castiel came back from his escapade to heaven and he's relying on instinct in a desperate effort to patch it up. He feels sick, tired, shaky to his bones. But he's driving and the blue dot is nearing the red so his plan is to hang on to that and let it only be pried out of his cold, dead hands.

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

The kid at the desk is lanky, red-faced. He smells like sweat and doritos and all but collapses when Dean takes a gun out and offers him an unshattered kneecap in exchange for the room number of one Agent Solange.

He hasn't been that aggressive with a civilian since his demon days, but he's twitchy and the exhaustion is gaining on him and he just wants to get this over and done with.  
  


He blames the empty hallways of the motel on it's remote location until he realizes it's some time past 3 in the morning and any person normally functioning human being would be asleep right now. It makes him walk with lighter footsteps, take care of the noise he makes when he finally stops outside the room Dwight the Receptionist claimed Jimmy Solange is currently holed up in. Which, Jimmy Solange, really? Guy might as well hold a neon sign above his head saying, 'I am a alien species masquerading as a human with limited knowledge of pop culture and Lucifer's child in my motel room.' It was like he wanted Dean to find him.  
  


Wrong train of thought, Dean quickly decides, as he unlocks the door to the motel room and looks up to see the barrel of a gun pointed square between his eyes. Clearly, this is not the face of an angel who wants to be found.

 

But it is the face of an angel.

 

Cas is in a tank shirt and boxers, legs and arms so bare Dean almost flinches. He hasn't even seen Cas without his trench coat on since Lucifer possessed him, but this is a whole other ballgame. Complete with hair so casually debauched he looks like something out of a Calvin Klein advertisement, Dean's beginning to question his position as the more obviously gorgeous one of Team Free Will. Cas stands with his feet spaced apart, both hands on the gun that's held straight in front of him, level with his head. It's an unnatural way to hold a gun, a stance that they use in movies to make the holder look cooler but in reality is really just a sign of an amateur. Dean'll have to teach him how to handle weaponry properly once this is all over, especially if he's getting comfy with the idea of nicking the colt out from under Dean's pillow.  
  


The position Cas stands in, as well as the shock so obviously portrayed on his face, makes it easy for Dean to knock the gun out of the way and drag the other man out into the white light of the hallway. Cas falls into him shockingly easily, though, almost like he's making an effort not to put up a fight, so Dean is more careful when he slams him into the wall.  
  


Castiel flinches, though Dean doesn't think it's because of any physical reactions to being forcefully hurled against a solid surface. He brings both hands up to wrap his fingers around Dean's wrist, the hand Dean has fisted in the collar of his stupid fucking tank shirt, and manages to drop the gun to the floor somewhat noiselessly. He's staring Dean right in the eyes like he always does when one of them has the other crowded up against a wall, and he hisses, "Please, for once in your life, be fucking quiet."  
  


It's then that Dean notices the very legitimate fear in his eyes. It throws him in a loop and for a moment he wonders if he's being too aggressive; he really didn't need to slam him against the wall, or haul him from his room, or have his shirt fisted in his hand. He's beginning to question his own motives when he sees Cas side glance at the door to room. The fingers around Dean's wrist squeeze tight for a a few heartbeats, in which Cas literally stops breathing and by default, Dean does too.  
  


Confused, Dean narrows his eyes and looks through the doorway into the room, but he sees nothing but a shape on a bed, Kelly Kline's chest rising and falling gently in the dark. He looks back at Cas, who has relaxed considerably. He sags in Dean's grip.  
  


Dean begins to feel uncomfortably out of line, so he takes his hand off of Cas and leans back just enough for him not to be completely in his space, though he still is considerably so. "Are you okay?" He says, and that is most definitely not the first thing he thought he'd say upon finding Castiel.  
  


But, really, the angel in question has had better days. His hair is damp with sweat, smoothed back so that it's turned towards the sky, even though Dean acutely remembers Cas telling Mick only a week or two ago that he didn't sweat under any circumstances. His eyes are more frantic that usual- lacking in that Castiel-typical steadiness that makes Dean a little nervous, sometimes- and he's holding himself like a man who hasn't seen rest in fifty thousand years. “I'm fine.” He says.  
  


Dean squints, opens his mouth to object, but ends up just shaking his head because he knows someone who is prepared to ignore how completely unconvincing that sounds is a lost cause.  
  


“I just- Was not expecting you, is all.” He continues.  
  


“I told you I'd come get you if you kept running.”

 

Castiel looks confused, but then something flashes in his eyes and he nods. “I believe I had already hung up.”  
  


Dean blinks. “ _You'd_ already hung up?” He asks, tentative, voice hushed to match Cas'. “That was you?”  
  


Cas looks away, shifting against the wall. Dean takes a step back, but continues watching him. “Not- not entirely.” Admits the angel, “The conversation would likely not have continued much longer if I had of been wholly myself for the entire phone call, but I do not recall deciding to terminate it, either.”  
  


Dean sets his jaw, takes another step back. “Good to hear you'd hang up on me regardless of whether you're being brain fucked by Lucifer Jr. or not.”  
  


Cas looks at him for a moment, gaze hooded. Dean suddenly feels like a petulant child. He knocks his head against the wall behind him and brings a hand up to his face, drags it down in one of the most human gestures Dean's seen him make in the last while. “Dean.” He says, and Dean thinks it's kind of weird how his name suffices as an entire sentence to Cas. “I believe you have spent enough time complaining that I do not talk on the phone with you enough.” He drops his hand and looks Dean in the eye. “If you would like me to call you more once our world is not being threatened by one of the most powerful forces it has ever encountered, I will be happy to comply. Right now, however, is not the time for this.”  
  


Dean feels his face flush. If he'd of known he was going to have his dignity stripped by a Cas in boxers, he thinks he would have brought Sam along with him for backup. Though, knowing Sam, he likely wouldn't of received any.  
  


“I wasn't- Don't make it sound like-”  
  


“Dean.”

 

Dean goes quiet.  
  


“We need to get out of here. If I stand another moment under the nephilim's influence, I doubt I will be much use in eliminating it as a threat.”  
  


Dean somewhat surprised, but he recovers quickly. “Right. Okay, yeah. Let's go.”

  
\- - - - - - - -

 

So that's how they end up in the car, flooring it back they way Dean had been coming only 10 minutes ago. They really do not need to be going at the speed they are- it's not like the pregnant lady is gonna come belting down the road after them- but the air in the impala is tense and apprehensive and the speed is a distraction. Neither of them say a thing. Several times, Dean swallows, glances at Cas with his mouth open to speak, but the words die in his throat every try.

 

The angel sits stock still, palms on his thighs, and, not that Dean should notice this, but thighs spread.  
  


Dean drums his thumb against the steering wheel, thinks about slamming Cas up against the wall.  
  


That finally does it. “Sorry.” He says, voice coming out scratchy. He doesn't try again.

 

Cas starts, looks at Dean and blinks away just as quick. “Be more specific, please.”  
  


Dean bites on the inside of his cheek. The fact that he needs to be more specific- how many things has he done recently that garner a apology?  
  


“For, you know. Man handling you.”

 

Cas does that thing where he rolls his head and eyes at the same time, lets his head loll against the seat behind him. Dean looks at him and squints, suddenly feeling a mixture of embarrassed and angry. “What? Whats with the fucking head rolls? You wanna tell me why you're acting like a fucking teenager? It's an apology Cas; you should give those a try, maybe.”  
  


Wrong words. He'd intended to fix up the conflict between them, not make it worse.  
  


“I have given those a try.” Snaps Cas, finally looking at him, though not in a way that Dean enjoys. “They get me nowhere! I'm thinking of trying the Dean Winchester way. My technique will be to say and do nothing, let the guilt build up until I find a physical outlet- usually violence, and am forced to admit my feelings after the damage is done. Wish me luck.”

 

Dean sets his jaw and digs his nails into his palm.

 

He stays quiet, doesn't even consider replying. Let them wait out the rest of the car ride in silence. Let them sit so stiff their shoulders knot. Fuck it.

 

But then Cas speaks again. His tone is quieter now, subdued. “I did say sorry.” He mutters, “Yesterday. Over the phone. I said sorry, Dean.”  
  


When Dean doesn't reply, he continues. “I meant it.”  
  


Dean looks at him. He looks how Dean feels; remorseful. They stare at eachother for a moment too many, but when Dean looks away it's only because he's driving and not because he wants to. He speaks, voice coming out softer than he'd intended. “Wasn't tryna fight with you.”  
  


He can feel Cas looking at him, and he knows that Cas knows.  
  


“I don't- I don't want to keep this up, Cas. This back and forward bullshit.” He's still and nervous.  
  


“Want it to be good between us.”  
  


He looks across at him gain. Cas' face is lit up blue in the darkness, and he's got his head resting sideways against the chair, facing Dean. Dean feels something clench in his chest at the sight of him, like he always feels. He's getting sick of doing nothing about it.  
  


“Me too.” Says Cas, and Dean would like to think he's answering what Dean just thought.  
  


“So we'll stop fighting. No matter what happens. We'll figure it out.” He wants to reach for him, but he can't, not at the moment. There's always something stopping him.  
  


“We'll figure it out, and you'll stop running away.” from me, Dean adds.  
  


From you, Cas thinks. “I will.”  
  


“You promise me.”  
  


“I do.”  
  


So he does, and they will, both of them. Together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i love being queerbaited and spending 3 hours finishing what the writers started  
> anyway this is ? weirdly paced kind of and im not 100% happy w it but people asked for a part two so!!!! have some sappy angsty shit

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know if i'll add a part two to this? anyway dean and cas are in love
> 
> if you think the title is alt-j inspired then you're right.


End file.
